


Miles to Go Before I Sleep

by StardustAndAsh



Series: To Seek a Bird [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, F/F, Fen'Harel - Freeform, Guilt, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Hypothermia, Wren Lavellan, and his wolf bffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7896802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndAsh/pseuds/StardustAndAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...Between the woods and frozen lake<br/>The darkest evening of the year...<br/>The woods are lovely, dark and deep,<br/>But I have promises to keep,<br/>And miles to go before I sleep,<br/>And miles to go before I sleep.</p><p>Wren Lavellan struggles to remember what happened at Haven while trying to find her companions, while Cassandra struggles with the guilt of leaving her behind to face the destruction alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cold. All Wren felt was the cold. It was like snow had crept into her veins and her very bones had transformed into ice. Had someone left the door open or had the fire gone out? She tried to cuddle into her blankets, only for pain to bloom in several places. Her head throbbed, and her shoulder was agony. Wren was fairly certain her knee was no longer attached to her leg. She let out a whimper that echoed in the quiet around her. Her ears twitched. It was too quiet. Even at night Haven still had the noise of people.

Wren opened her eyes to grey darkness. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but still the grey persisted. Eventually she realized that she was face down in snow, and that it was dark out. Where were the others? Wren tried to think about what had happened. She remembered closing the breach-

She had kissed Cassandra! That was important. Wren latched on to that memory. There had been the party; she had given Cassandra the crest of Clan Lavellan as a symbol that she would pursue no other until Cassandra either refused or accepted her affections. But what happened after that? Wren struggled to remember. There had been a boy at the gates. He spoke so strangely. He’d been trying to warn her about someone. The bells in the chantry had been ringing. They were loud enough to be heard the next valley over, Wren remembered thinking.

The cold was getting worse. It bit at her unprotected ears and sunk its teeth into her fingers and toes. It took several tries, but eventually Wren managed to get her hands underneath her and slowly pushed herself up to stand.

She was in a tunnel of some sort. There were tunnels under the chantry, Wren knew. Someone had said so. It was dark, though the hole in the roof and the mark on her hand lit it enough for her to see. The tunnel was carved into the rock of the mountain roughly. Wren couldn’t tell if it bent up ahead or not, her circle of light was too small for that. Or maybe it was because her eyes still wouldn’t focus on anything. Above her were broken slats and softly falling snow. She could make out one of the moons hovering distantly overhead. Wren looked around for a sign of any of her companions. She’d even take Cullen at this point, if only to have a familiar face. The tunnel remained empty, and from what Wren could tell, above her lay only snow. She couldn’t climb out to check either. The slats were just out of reach. Even if she wasn’t battered from head to toe it would have been a challenge. No, Wren’s only way out lay ahead through the tunnel.

The mark hissed and crackled, nearly sending Wren back to her knees. She bit back a scream. The mark burned and tore at her skin, ripping from her palm to halfway up her forearm in fracturing green lines. That’s what they were after, the anchor in her hand. As Wren cradled her hand to her chest she remembered the creature that had stepped out of the dragonfire and called itself Corypheus. It claimed to be a god, but Wren knew better. The only gods she knew of were locked away courtesy of Fen’Harel. This was something else. Maybe a man once, or maybe a darkspawn, but twisted and corrupted by red lyrium. Wren could picture the lyrium jutting out of the thing’s jaw, twisting its face into a permanent snarl. She’d tried to kick it in the face, and he threw her against the trebuchet. That’s probably why her shoulder hurt so badly. It was most likely either broken or dislocated.

 A shiver tickled down her spine and knocked her out of her head. Right. Cave. Cold. Possibly dying of hypothermia was not appealing in the least and that was what drove Wren forward. She had to find the others.

Wren’s footsteps were oddly muffled as she walked through the tunnel. A fine layer of snow and ice coated the floor of the tunnel. The ice on the walls glittered eerily in the flickering light of the anchor, casting shadows that made Wren jump and twitch as she saw them out of the corner of her eye. The tunnel had many branches, but most were caved in. It was as if she was being herded by some unseen force. It was hard to walk while shivering madly, but Wren managed. One foot in front of the other. Rinse and repeat, ignore the pain in her knee. Cullen was leading the entirety of Haven up over the mountain. She could catch up with them if she just kept walking. Sera would have a blanket for her, and Varric would tell her a story while Dorian fussed over the state of her clothes. He’d get her a nice jacket. Wren really needed a new jacket, this one had far too many holes in it to keep out the cold.

She almost didn’t see the two despair demons in time. They attacked from both sides with their long claws reaching for Wren’s unprotected throat. Without a weapon Wren had nothing but the anchor in her hand. Good thing it decided that now was the perfect time to test out something new. Her hand twitched around the anchor, sending hot knives of pain into the numb ache of her shoulder. At the same time a small rift opened above the demons and sucked them in. They screeched in their ear-piercing way, clawing at the air as they disappeared back into the fade. Wren blinked in the aftermath as the rift faded out of existence. She felt light and tired, like the rift had pulled something out of her. Putting one foot in front of the other was somehow harder.

Wren heard the end of the tunnel before she saw it. The wind howled past the exit, carrying snow and ice with it. Sometime during her walk through the cave a storm had begun and was now raging fiercely over the mountainside. Surely she could stay in the tunnel and not go out into the storm.

“But they’re waiting for you,” said a voice to her right.

Wren turned. The boy who had been at Haven was there in the tunnel with her, big floppy hat and all. She must have hit her head harder than she thought.

“No, I am here. And the others are out there. They want you to come back as soon as possible.”

“How did you get here?” asked Wren. Her words came out all slurred together like she’d had far too much ale.

“I heard you. You want to stop, but you also want to keep going. I came to help, but I need to help them too.”

“Go help them, they’re more important than some elf.”

“Waiting, crying. ‘I should have said I loved her too. I shouldn’t have left her there. My responsibility, my fault.’ She fights to look but needs to lead.”

Cassandra. He was talking about Cassandra. She was with the others from Haven then. And she was thinking of Wren. She couldn’t let Cassandra have all that guilt piled on her. Cassandra didn’t deserve that.

“What’s your name?” asked Wren.

“Cole, but you will forget.”

“I promise I won’t.”

But Cole was gone. Maybe she had imagined him. Either way, she had to keep going.

The wind was worse than she had imagined, buffeting against her with needles made of ice. If she could feel her cheeks she would have noticed the ice cutting into them. Snow clung to her eyelashes in thick clumps so she was forced to brush it out of her eyes every few steps. The snow was knee-deep and hard to wade through, but Wren was determined now. She could not turn back, and therefore she had to keep going forward until she found the people of Haven or her body gave out on her.

There was a light in the distance. It was hard to make out through the snow, but there was definitely a light flickering in the darkness of the storm. She just had to get to that light, then she would be fine. Wren concentrated on walking, watching her feet to make sure they were in fact moving. She was numb up to her ankles now, and tripping here would certainly mean death for her. Wren knew she didn’t have the strength to get back up to her feet if she fell.

It was a burning cart. A wheel had broken off in the snow. The refugees had abandoned it in favour of retreating further up the mountain. Wren could see the slight difference in the height of the snow where the people of Haven had cut a wide path through the snow. It was the best chance she had.

Wren lost track of time as she walked. Hours could have passed before a howl startled her into awareness. She had made it to a copse of trees growing strong out of the mountainside. Her Keeper always warned against going under trees in deep snow, lest she fall into a deep pocket near the trunk. It had rarely snowed that much in the Free Marches, but they camped on mountains often enough.

Her knee had stopped hurting, but neither could she feel it. A mixed blessing, Wren decided. She could walk unhindered without the pain but she knew it was a sign she was dying. She shivered against the cold wind. Her teeth clacked loudly in her skull, nearly drowning out the screech of the wind.

The wolf howled again, this time closer, and was met by an answering chorus. Wren could barely make out their shadows between the dark shapes of the trees to her left. They were watching her, but they didn’t make their move. It was unnerving. Sure Wren had a hunter’s shape, but she was injured and alone, and mountain wolves were always hungry. It was as if they were herding her forward. They followed Wren out of the trees, keeping a steady distance. They howled again, and this time another call answered. It was deeper than a normal wolf’s howl, more primal. Wren looked about to see a massive shape in the distance moving with her. It looked like a wolf, but bigger than Haven’s chantry. Creators! It was the Dread Wolf himself, coming to take her. Through the wind and snow Wren thought she saw its six eyes, as green as the anchor, watching her. What game did the Dread Wolf play with her? Was this to be a punishment for pretending to be a herald of a human god? The wolves didn’t answer.

The next time Wren came back to herself she wasn’t even aware she had been drifting. Every step was smaller than the last and seemed to take double the effort. In some distant part of her mind she noted that she was no longer shivering. A wolf, a handsome black and grey fellow who stood as high as Wren’s waist, nudged her with his head. Forward. She had to go forward. But forward was up a steep rise. The wolf stayed behind as Wren climbed. The rest of the pack watched her from a distance. Wren nodded at them, it seemed only polite to acknowledge them after all. They all bowed back before disappearing into the darkness. Watching them go was when Wren finally realized the storm had broken. She was too numb to feel the air around her. With a great effort she climbed up the rise. Her feet kept slipping on slick rocks and the fresh, powdery snow.

Once she was up there she could see the individual fires of the refugee camp dotting a hollow between two peaks. Wren’s relief made her knees turn to jelly. She had done it; she found them. Unfortunately the last few steps had taken the last of her energy, and without noticing quite how it happened Wren’s perspective changed as she found herself on her knees. At least they could send her back to the clan. She wanted to be buried beside her brother, and a matching willow tree planted over her grave.

“There! It’s her!” a familiar voice called. Who was it? Wren didn’t care as she slid face first into the snow.

“Thank the Maker,” someone replied. Someone with a wonderfully thick accent.

Footsteps crunched in the snow around her. Then hands were on her, burning her with their warmth as they turned her over and cradled her. She must have made a noise because she was gently shushed by whoever was holding her.

“Cass…” Wren tried to speak through her chapped and frozen lips.

“Hush, I am here. You’ll be fine.”

Wren relaxed. She’d done it, she’d found the others. She’d found Cassandra. With that thought to comfort her she fell into the waiting darkness, ready for sleep at last.


	2. Chapter 2

The evening had been so wonderful before the chantry bells began tolling the alarm and an army had come down from the hills to attack Haven with fire and lyrium. Did the Maker not have it in his heart to let the Herald have some well-deserved rest? Cassandra fumbled for a sword as she dashed out the gates after Lavellan. It was a useless charge, the army’s numbers were too great, she knew this. She had to chase after Lavellan, however. Their adventure in the Storm Coast was not far from Cassandra’s mind, and she couldn’t let anything happen to Lavellan again.

They made for the trebuchets first. Lavellan helping to crank the trebuchets as the others defended. Cassandra made sure she was close to her throughout the battle, not charging off like the Iron Bull. It didn’t matter once the dragon landed on them. It blew apart the trebuchets with one blast of its breath, hotter than Cassandra had ever felt dragon fire. She wasted no time in grabbing Lavellan and wrestling her back through the gates despite the elf’s protests. They did stop to help Harritt on the way to the gate, but Cassandra swore she didn’t breathe until she passed Cullen and the gates shut with a heavy bang.

The dragon had struck inside as well. Fires burned in many of the homes. Screams echoed as people fled up to the chantry chased by Templars with lyrium-spiked armour.

Cullen’s words rang in Cassandra’s ears. “At this point, just make them work for it.” No, she refused to give in. For blessed are they who stand before the wicked and corrupt and do not falter, and Cassandra would never back down. Not when everything she cared for and helped create was on the line. The Inquisition was Justinia’s last will, and she would see it protected.

The group split off to try and find survivors in the flames. Cassandra’s heart leapt into her throat as she saw Lavellan scale some boxes and a collapsed section of the outer wall in order to drop through a hole into her burning cabin, but she forced herself to keep going. She found Threnn holding off a horde of Templars and joined in the fray with fervour. Survivours fled past them into the chantry while the dragon roared overhead. Out of the corner of her eye Cassandra spotted Vivienne helping a limping Flissa through the ruins of Haven. Soon enough Cassandra and Threnn had finished off the Templars and entered the chantry themselves. It was quiet. Someone was crying quietly, but the people were too nervous to talk.

Lavellan came crashing into the chantry only a minute after Cassandra, panting and with soot staining one cheek. Behind her was the Chancellor and the strange boy who had come to warn them of the attack. The boy was holding up Roderick and gently placed him in a chair.

“Herald, our position is not good. The dragon stole back any time you may have earned us,” Cullen approached Lavellan at a jog.

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” said the boy. “It was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care about that. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!” growled Cullen.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

Cassandra felt ice sliding down her back. She had known from the moment the attack happened it had happened because of the mark on Lavellan’s hand. She felt real fear for the first time in a long time. Not for herself or the fate of Haven but for Lavellan. She watched a mixture of emotions play out on Lavellan’s face. Fear, sorrow, resignation. The elf worried her lip before looking up to address all of them.

“If it will save all of you, he can have me.”

“No,” said Cassandra before she could stop herself.

“No one else matters. He’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him,” said the boy.

Good. The others thought Lavellan’s idea of self-sacrifice was idiotic as well.

“Herald, the only thing that stopped them was the avalanche. We could turn the trebuchets, cause one last slide,” suggested Cullen. Cassandra didn’t like where this was going. She knew how limited their options were, and that what Cullen was suggesting was a sound tactical idea, but the cost would be too great.

“We’re overrun. To hit the enemy we would bury Haven,” argued Cassandra. “Would you have us all die?”

“We can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

“There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’ve made the summer pilgrimage, as I have,” said Roderick breathlessly. “Andraste must have shown me.”

“Cullen, can you get the people out?” asked Lavellan.

“Possibly, but what of your escape?” Cullen asked softly.

Lavellan was silent a moment too long. Cassandra’s heart twisted in her chest. Cullen couldn’t ask this of Lavellan, and Lavellan shouldn’t ask Cassandra to watch her die. Not after asking for permission to court her only a few hours ago.

“I will go with her,” said Cassandra, stubbornly jutting out her chin and challenging him to say something.

“Cassandra I can’t ask this of you,” said Lavellan quietly.

“If the Boss is going, I’m going too,” said the Iron Bull, wandering up to them.

“The last time you left my sight you got into a whole mess of trouble without me. This time I’m coming along, no matter how shite it might turn out,” added Sera, stringing her bow and strapping on her arm guards. She looked absolutely terrified but there was fire in her eyes.

“Herald, if we are to have a chance, if any of us are going to have a chance, let that thing hear you,” said Cullen before disappearing into the tunnels.

Cassandra watched as the chantry slowly emptied into the tunnel, remembering where the entrance was so that she could drag Lavellan down it after they loaded the trebuchet. The Iron Bull was giving instructions to Krem quietly as the Chargers made their way down below the chantry. Varric had pulled aside Lavellan and they talked in hushed tones before he clapped her on the back and scurried off into the tunnel. Cassandra would bet gold that he was crying.

The four of them stood together as they waited for the majority of the village’s people to enter the tunnel. The greater the head start the less time they would have to distract the Elder One and his dragon. Cassandra offered a quick prayer to Andraste for all of them. There would be no hope of continuing their Inquisition without Lavellan, the people’s Herald of Andraste, and so Cassandra prayed that Andraste would keep her safe. It might have been silly of her, but she gripped Lavellan’s hand while she prayed, hoping the connection would somehow make her prayer stronger. They’d need it after all. None of them had armour, there was no need for it during a celebration after all. They just had their weapons, and those not even their own. Her sword and shield were those of a Templar who would be missing them once he worried enough to look. Lavellan had a practice sword with a dull edge. Sera’s bow wasn’t her strong white longbow, instead a much shorter recurve with a green cloth wrapped around the grip. The Iron Bull had somehow found his battle axe in all the chaos, but Cassandra supposed that a five-foot-long axe was not hard to find.

Walking out the chantry doors was like walking into a particularly nasty dream. What was left of the village smouldered quietly. Bodies littered the area outside the chantry. Lavellan’s brow wrinkled and she turned away. It was understandable. Many of the bodies had faces of friends and neighbours. One, with a spear still buried in her body, was one of the young mages that had come from Redcliffe.

They had no time to mourn as they hurried towards the trebuchet. No one tossed out a joke, no one outwardly mourned the dead they passed, nor did they curse the Templars. Not even Sera, who looked as if she might cry. They fought whoever they came across in the ruins. Groups of the red Templars wandered through the village, most likely searching for the inhabitants. It made Cassandra’s heart break, to think of the Templars, her friends and her charges, being corrupted by magic and lyrium and turned to evil purpose.

The gates had been knocked down and lay splintered across the ground. As they walked out of the city they saw the remnants of the stables and Harritt’s workshop. There would be nothing left of the village in the morning. Especially once they set off that trebuchet. When they reached it Cassandra was happy to note it was loaded. It just needed to be turned to face the opposite direction; up towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Lavellan ran to handle the crank, while Cassandra, Iron Bull and Sera took up defensive positions at her back.

They stood no chance against the dragon.

Cassandra heard the telltale high whistle of a dragon about to breathe its magical breath and turned to pull Lavellan out of the way, but the dragon got there first.  The blast knocked them all off their feet. Cassandra had a few dizzying moments of trying to figure out what direction was up before she came to a stop. There was a harsh ringing in her ears, drowning out the muffled sounds of roaring and shouting. The Herald! Where was Lavellan?

Cassandra pushed herself up and into a world that was oddly red. Inches in front of her face was a red wall. Even through the loud ringing in her ears she could hear the eerie high-pitched humming that signaled red lyrium. She pushed to her feet and scrambled back. She’d heard Varric’s story about his brother, and as much as she knew he liked to embellish his stories she had no doubt red lyrium was as dangerous as he claimed. Not after seeing the red Templars that had stormed Haven.

Sera and the Iron Bull were also on their feet, but they were just staring at the wall of red lyrium. Beyond it Cassandra could see flames and the dragon. But where was Lavellan.

“The Herald? Where is she?” asked Cassandra.

Sera’s lip began to tremble, but she kept herself together.

“She’s still on the other side. That cock-munching-shite-faced dragon got us,” said Sera, her fists trembling at her side.

“No. We have to help her,” said Cassandra.

“We can’t we have to go. Now. Or else we’ll just be caught up in the avalanche as well,” said the Iron Bull.

“I cannot accept that. I need to help her. Help me find a way around this.”

Cassandra craned her neck, trying to see what was on the other side of the red lyrium. Her hand came up to clasp the pendant around her neck. The symbol of Clan Lavellan was heavy on her chest. She still needed to give Lavellan her answer. A hand on her shoulder stilled her.

“We need to go. Trust in the Boss, she can handle it,” said the Iron Bull. He had one arm around Sera, who was glaring at the red lyrium wall.

“But she should not have to handle it alone,” said Cassandra, but she let the Iron Bull lead her away.

Together they climbed back through the city and into the chantry. The closer they got the quicker they went, even with Cassandra casting looks back every few steps. Even at the chantry doors, the highest point in Haven, Cassandra could not see what was happening in the circle of red lyrium and fire beyond the wings of the dragon.

They ran into the tunnels. Though there was a surprising amount of branches to the tunnel they easily knew which way to go. The tunnel they needed was no longer lined in dust and cobwebs. No torches lined the walls, so Cassandra improvised with a metal bar and a cloth from the altar, hoping that it wouldn’t be taken as a blasphemous action. They walked in silence, aside from Sera cursing occasionally under her breath. For once Cassandra agreed with the cursing. She felt like throwing herself upon the ground in tears and screaming for Lavellan, but that wouldn’t help anyone. So she kept walking.

Then the world around them shook. Pebbles and dirt dropped onto their heads from the ceiling as the avalanche thundered down the side of the mountain above. Cassandra’s heart shattered with every second of shaking. Lavellan had done it. Twice in one day she had done the impossible. Tears burned her eyes. Cassandra wiped them away quickly and hoped no one had seen. From the hand on her arm, someone had.

“She didn’t deserve this,” said Sera with a sniffle. “She was supposed to woo you with flowers and cookies and all that proper romantic shite, not die in some stupid heroic way.”

“That’s the problem with heroes. They tend not to last long,” said the Iron Bull, though not meant unkindly.

“We need to find the villagers and inform the others about what happened. We can mourn later,” said Cassandra, rolling her shoulders back. Though her heart had been torn into pieces she had to keep the Inquisition strong. For both Justinia and for Lavellan. The pendant sat heavily between her breasts. Lavellan still had a family out there. A family who didn’t even want her to go to the conclave in the first place.

“It’s not your fault,” said the Iron Bull.

Cassandra said nothing but ground her teeth together. His words were not a comfort if they were also a lie. She shouldered past the Iron Bull and led the way out of the tunnel. The wind was picking up and making clouds dance against the starry sky. There would be a storm soon, there was no doubt, and they had best find the others before it started snowing on them as well.

The snow was soft beneath their feet. The slide had passed through this spot and made walking treacherous. On top of that they were all cold. What was fit for a party at Haven, where fires burned on every corner, was not great for trekking through the snow at night. At least they still had the torch.

Cassandra risked a look down at where she knew Haven should be. She could just make out the top of the chantry peeking out of the snow. Nothing could have survived that. Lavellan may have survived many things, but even miracles dried up for those Andraste protected. Cassandra forced herself to look away. She had to get the Iron Bull and Sera to the others. Even though it was a small goal, and very short term, it was something to focus on. One foot in front of the other, and making sure the Iron Bull and Sera were doing the same.

It wasn’t long before they came upon the last cluster of trees clinging to the mountain. The avalanche hadn’t passed through here, and the tracks of wagons and feet were deeply imprinted in the snow. Cassandra stopped the others with a gesture. The wind was blowing sound to them and it was difficult to hear over the crunching of their feet. It was the sound of voices. They had caught up at last. A good thing they had, as the first flakes of what promised to be a very bad storm fell down upon them.

The first view they had of the group was the wagons at the end of the line. It was slow going for them. A few horses had been harnessed for the job, but most were pulled by the strength of people. One of the closest to Cassandra held a group of children, clustered together with frightened faces. Varric sat in the wagon with them, obviously in the middle of some grand story if the sweeping gesticulations were anything to go by. He didn’t notice them at first. Fine by Cassandra, she needed to find Cullen. But then a child looked up at them and this distracted Varric enough to notice the group that had emerged out of the trees.

“Seeker! I see you’re still in one piece,” called Varric as he hopped off the wagon. He met them halfway, and noticed what was missing.

“Varric, where is the commander?” asked Cassandra before he could ask where Lavellan was.

“He’s up at the front of the line with the Nightingale, but Seeker, where’s our Birdie?”

Too late, Cassandra had already begun stalking towards the front of the line. Along the way they passed others from Lavellan’s circle. Many questioning looks were sent her way, but no one else approached to ask where the Herald was. Perhaps they all knew, as she did, that the Herald had buried herself for their sakes.

Cullen and Leliana took one look at Cassandra and they knew what had happened. She was glad neither of them tried to speak to her or offer platitudes. They knew that the most important thing was finding somewhere safe enough to pitch a camp before the storm hit. Eventually they came over a ridge and looked down into a wide plateau with natural walls made by the mountain peaks. Snow may still fall on them here, but the mountains would cut the wind and it was big enough that all of the Inquisition could fit comfortably. Leliana quickly spread word down the line. Sounds of relief and a few quiet cheers rose up as people began rushing to set up camps and fires. No sooner had they rushed in than the storm began in earnest, blowing fiercley around the mountain. Most of it missed them.

Cassandra made a mental note to look at their supplies and see if they needed to implement rationing, but for tonight she’d let the people do as they wished. She helped with the set-up as well. Standing still for too long made violet eyes and shy smiles float across her mind. The more effort she put into setting up tents and fires the less she thought about how terrifying it must have been for Lavellan in her last few moments.

“She’s coming. She’s cold and she hurts but she is coming,” said a soft voice.

Cassandra jumped and turned, a hand reaching for her sword. In front of her was a boy. He looked somewhat familiar, but Cassandra couldn’t place it.

“I am Cole, but that doesn’t matter right now. Just like your fires don’t matter,” said Cole.

“What do you mean it does not matter. Of course fire and shelter matter.” Cassandra was ready to give the lecture of this boy’s young life.

“I’d rather you didn’t. It would waste time and she needs help. She likes you.”

“Who needs help?”

“The one the Elder One wants. She stole his anchor and he wanted it back.”

“The Herald!”

Cassandra’s heart leapt in hope. Lavellan could be alive out there, if this boy could be trusted. Cassandra rushed off to get Cullen. If Lavellan was alive they needed to find her, and quickly. The storm had begun to blow itself out but there were still dangers out on the mountainside.

She found Cullen talking to Leliana and Josephine. Josephine’s eyes were red rimmed and Leliana had an arm around Josephine’s shoulder and a pocket full of handkerchiefs at the ready. Leliana looked up at Cassandra’s arrival, alerting the others.

“Cassandra,” said Leliana. “Please, let us hear what happened in Haven.”

“There isn’t time for that, we should be out there looking.”

“Looking for what? The dragon flew off once the avalanche started, no doubt with the Elder One,” said Cullen. The bags under his eyes were dark and Cassandra wondered when his last small dose of lyrium had been.

“The Herald could have made it out of Haven, we cannot abandon her now that we are safe.”

Josephine’s face crumpled, but thankfully she didn’t start crying. Cassandra had never been good with crying people.

“Cassandra, Haven was buried. The Herald may have done miraculous things but surviving that would be impossible,” said Cullen.

“If I may?” asked Solas as he approached from whatever dark corner he had been hiding in. “It would not be impossible to surmise that the Herald escaped. As we came through the tunnels we saw that there were any number of branches that could be taken. If the Herald managed to find another entrance she could have followed us up the mountain.”

As loathe as Cassandra was to accept help from the apostate, she was glad to see the effects of his words on the others.

“Fine. Cassandra and I will start scouting ahead. Leliana, you round up the others and send them out in pairs behind us. No one is gone for more than half an hour. Lady Montilyet if you would be so kind as to prepare a few tents for the injured and gather anyone, mage or otherwise, who is skilled in the healing arts? We have injured soldiers with us, and Maker only knows what shape the Herald will be in if we find her,” said Cullen, authority ringing in his words. Thank the Maker at least one of them remembered that they needed to command a large group.

Cassandra waited impatiently while Cullen fetched his sword. She didn’t like the way Solas stood to the side with a knowing look on his face. The elf unsettled her. She understood he had value for the Inquisition but he seemed above everything that happened to them, like it wasn’t concerning in the slightest that the sky had been ripped open and the veil torn. Solas turned his attention from her to the dark landscape beyond the Inquisition’s fires.

“I am ready,” said Cullen, appearing at Cassandra’s elbow with a proper torch in hand. Without another word Cassandra led the way into the darkness.

There was a definite drop in temperature as soon as they left the camp. The cloudy sky left them only the torchlight to see by. Cassandra started shivering almost immediately, but now was no time to think about something so trivial as a little cold if there was hope of finding Lavellan. They decided to retrace the Inquisition’s tracks into the valley. Even if they were covered in fresh snow they were still noticeable. Every minute stretched on forever. The snow dampened the sound of the Haven camp behind them, and before ten minutes they could no longer hear it at all even though the firelight was still bright behind them.

“Cassandra, I hate to be the pessimist, but the Herald-“

“We will find her,” Cassandra cut him off.

“You must accept the possibility that she’s gone,” said Cullen gently. Cassandra knew Cullen was only saying it out of worry for her, but the kindness rubbed her the wrong way.

“Even if we find her… her corpse, I am bringing her back. She deserves that much,” said Cassandra in a tone that brokered no argument.

Cullen pressed his lips into a thin line and frowned, but was smart enough not to keep talking. He looked out over the snow away from Cassandra. No doubt he was thinking some nasty thoughts, or holding back his grief. Cassandra hated being harsh with Cullen, even if sometimes he needed to be yelled at to get a point through his stubborn head.

“There,” whispered Cullen.

“What?”

“There! It’s her!”

Cassandra turned towards where Cullen was looking and gasped. Staggering over the edge of the ridge was the unmistakable figure of Wren Lavellan.

“Thank the Maker,” said Cassandra, loud and breathless as she took off through the snow as fast as she could.

Then Lavellan stumbled and fell. Cassandra’s heart froze as she tried to fight her way through knee deep snow. She could hear Cullen’s laboured breathing beside hers as he struggled as well. If the minutes before stretched on forever, every second of that scramble towards Lavellan was an eternity.

 Cassandra slid onto her knees beside the elf and reached out with trembling hands to turn her over. Lavellan’s face was a mottled blue and white, and snow had crusted on her eyelashes. Cassandra could see her eyes moving beneath her lids and gently brushed snow-covered hair out Lavellan’s face. Lavellan whimpered at the touch and Cassandra shushed her as Cullen crouched down next to her.

“Cass?” Lavellan murmured weakly.

Cassandra cursed herself for not pulling her out of the way in time, for not going to look for her sooner. The elf in her arms was the barest shadow of the Herald of Andraste.

“Hush, I am here. You’ll be fine,” said Cassandra. She would not fail her this time, and when Lavellan was better Cassandra would find the courage to give her answer. If her heart could decide what it wanted. Right now it just wanted Lavellan safe.

Then Lavellan went limp in her arms. Her head lolled to the side against Cassandra’s chest. For a second Cassandra feared it was too late.

“Lavellan? Wren?” Cassandra shook her gently.

Cullen took his sword out of its sheath and held the blade beneath Lavellan’s nose. They both let out a sigh of relief when they saw breath ghost along the metal. Cassandra wasted no time in gathering Lavellan into her arms and standing.

“We must get her back to the others as soon as possible. She needs a healer,” said Cassandra, starting back in the direction of the dim glow of many campfires.

Cullen stood and followed, removing his great fluffy mantle as they walked and draped it gently over Lavellan. The fur tickled at Cassandra’s chin, but she would not complain. Anything to help Lavellan. The walk down into camp was quicker than the walk up. Lavellan was a dead weight in Cassandra’s arms, making it difficult to keep hold of her with slowly freezing fingers, but she refused to hand her over to Cullen. Lavellan was her responsibility, she had been from the beginning, ever since Cassandra had dragged her out of that cell and up the mountain.

Their return to camp was met with a flurry of activity. People were everywhere, trying to look at the Herald and pry her out of Cassandra’s arms. Cassandra nearly hissed at them. Could they not see that Lavellan needed a healer?

“Cassandra, please, they need to see to the Herald,” Leliana’s voice murmured in her ear.

Cassandra finally looked at those around her and recognized the faces of the healers she knew. Solas was trying to pry Lavellan out of her arms as gently as he could while Cassandra held on with an iron grip. Reluctantly, Cassandra let go and allowed Lavellan to be pulled away from her and whisked into the improvised healer’s tent.

“They will do what they can for her,” said Leliana quietly.

“And there is no point in worrying until we know for sure,” said Cassandra right back.

“Ah I didn’t say that. We always worry about those we care for, no?” Leliana said with a hint of a smirk.

Cassandra hated that smirk.

“She gave you the symbol of her clan. It’s very sweet. My Warden once gave me a similar pendant with the Grey Warden crest on it.”

“It does not mean anything,” said Cassandra snappishly, though she felt her cheeks redden with the embarrassment that came after.

“I’m sure,” chuckled Leliana. “The Herald is strong. I have faith that the Maker will guide her through, as he has done for both of us.”

“I have faith in the Maker, not in the so-called healers in that tent,” said Cassandra.  

“Ah but the Maker works in mysterious ways. His plan might not be what we dream of but the fruits of his work taste ever so sweet,” said Leliana, back to that infuriating smirk.

Leliana left her to her worry. Evidently there was no further need to argue the point, whatever that point might be. Cassandra was never sure when it came to Leliana. She much preferred people speak their minds than hide behind confusing words and false faces.

Without anything else to do Cassandra dusted off an abandoned crate and seated herself upon it, facing the tent with crossed arms and a frown. The camp moved around her, with people passing each other in search of food or finding each other with a tearful embrace. Cassandra sighed as she watched a scout sweep up a small woman in their arms. Some people got all the nice perks of romance. Here she was waiting outside of a tent after dragging back a woman who claimed to love her, and Cassandra didn’t even know if she loved her back. If this was one of her books she would be in the tent with Lavellan doing something to nurse her back to health or brushing hair out of her face. But she was outside in the snow thinking jealous thoughts.

Not to mention the confusion in her heart. Lavellan was a woman like herself, not to mention the Herald of Andraste. When Cassandra pictured the person of her dreams they were typically tall and muscular, with the barest hint of stubble. Someone who could quite literally sweep Cassandra off her feet. Lavellan was muscular, though small and soft, and definitely no stubble. But the way she looked at Cassandra made her feel like she was something precious. Like Cassandra deserved all the traditional romance and more. Cassandra looked at Lavellan like she was the avatar of Andraste and not like she was a person.

“She is out of danger.”

Cassandra blinked and looked up into the unmoved face of Solas. He said no more as he walked off and disappeared between the tents. Cassandra stood and entered the tent. Inside she was as nervous as ever, but did her best to portray indifference.

Dorian was at Lavellan’s side with one of her small hands in his. She could feel him gently working magic with every step she took towards the bedside. His fingers glowed faintly with heat as he warmed Lavellan. Dorian looked up at her approach and gave a wry smile. Cassandra was glad to see that Lavellan’s lips were no longer blue, though she was still far too pale. She did her best to ignore Dorian and his wagging eyebrows. Whatever he was implying she would punch him for later. Instead she reached out for Lavellan. Cassandra needed to know that Lavellan was still with her and breathing.

The hand in hers was still a little cold, but not the ice it had been earlier. Cassandra almost breathed a sigh of relief before remembering she was not alone with Lavellan. Instead she made a vow. She swore to the Maker that she would keep Lavellan safe from harm until they conquered their enemies or until Cassandra breathed her last. To Andraste she promised that she would remember her Herald was just a woman, as Andraste herself had been. To Lavellan she promised that even if her heart decided against her affections, Cassandra would remain by her side, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In summary Cass is having one big gay panic while everyone else ships it. 
> 
> I hope to write more for these two in the future, but I just started a very demanding costuming program that will be taking up most of my time. Between that, personal writing, work, and other obligations, fanfic will be low on the list.
> 
> I hope y'all have liked Wren and Cassandra as much as I like writing them.


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